The Golden Maze
The ledger weighed forty-two pounds, a dense block of vellum that smelled of iron and old sweat, and Elias Thorne had counted every stitch in the leather binding three times to ensure the debt was exact. He was forty-two years old, a scribe of the Obsidian Court, and he had served the High Archivist for twenty years, his hands stained permanently black from the ink that did not dry but seeped,...
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